


If You Ever Come Back (I’ll be Waiting)

by nellywrites



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/pseuds/nellywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sebastian spends Christmas with his father. A character study/look into Sebastian's home life</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Ever Come Back (I’ll be Waiting)

**Author's Note:**

> When coming up with back story for my characters I prefer writing separate stories instead of writing “regular” meta. This is one of those exercises, for another piece I wrote featuring Sebastian. This was only an exercise originally intended for my eyes only, hence the odd point of view and the plot holes, and the time gaps. If this were a “real story” it would probably be twice as long. Just thought I’d share anyway. Takes place in the Halcyon Days verse.

 

Uneven banks of snow line the sidewalks, but it is warm enough for people to walk about without hats or gloves. Sebastian’s hands, however, have never weathered cold temperatures well, and his fingers are stiff and aching from helping too many of his classmates haul their belongings down from their dorms and into their parents’ cars. It’s only the winter break—hardly long enough to be considered a  _real_  vacation, by Sebastian’s standards— but, even after years of boarding schools, it never ceases to surprise him exactly how much crap teenage boys can pack for just a few weeks. It doesn’t even matter how many movies they have at home because  _what if I want to watch that one?_  
  
The morning’s the rabble of teenage boys scrambling to finish last minute packing had resembled three-for-one happy hour at Scandals on Karaoke Saturdays. Now the halls are as quiet as a monastery as Sebastian wanders back to his own dorm room and his own last minute packing. The campus’ opulent wreaths and garlands seem almost hedonistic now there’s hardly anyone there to behold them.  
  
He unlocks his dorm room and immediately walks over to the space heater he keeps at the foot of his bed. He holds his hands over it, flexes his fingers, trying to coax a semblance of feeling back into them. He notices the duffle bag lying empty and gaping where he left it on his bed, and for a moment he considers putting it away, spending the break at Dalton with the other two dozen boys too poor or too unwanted to be able to go home for the Holidays, but his phone buzzes twice in his pocket, signaling an incoming message.

  

> _12/21/2012 3:04 PM_
> 
> Can’t wait to see you tonight.
> 
> Will be home by 8. I’ll pick up a pizza.
> 
> Love, Dad.

 

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Has the bastard developed telepathic powers or something?

He looks down at his phone again to check the time. If he does a quick job of his packing, he’ll be in Columbus by 4:00 PM. Which leaves him with more or less four hours of peace before Round One begins.

 

 

||

  
There’s a Christmas tree leaning against the far wall in the living room, tucked into the corner, still wrapped in the protective netting. It’s the first thing Sebastian sees when he enters his father’s house. It looks so obnoxiously conspicuous and  _colorful_  against the stark gray and black of the living room’s decor scheme that it makes Sebastian stop in the foyer and gawk. He scoffs at it audibly and wonders how long it’s been there, if his father even remembers it’s there.  
  
Sebastian leaves the duffle bag in the living room floor, if only because he can, and walks down the hall toward the kitchen. He hasn’t eaten anything since the breakfast Nick’s parents treated him to nearly six hours ago and he’s ravenous.

The counters are immaculately clean and bare, appliances twinkling with the shine of disuse, but there’s a blue post-it note stuck on the refrigerator with the words WELCOME HOME written in his dad’s blocky handwriting. It’s not the only thing stuck to the fridge, there are also take-out menus; a trial schedule; the Dalton academic calendar with today’s date circled in red; and a picture of a six-year old Sebastian in a too-large soccer jersey, blond-haired and gap-toothed.

Sebastian stares at it, and stares at it, but the boy in the picture keeps smiling. Then he feels stupid, for having a staring contest with a self-portrait, and finally grips a hand around the door handle to pull it open. The fridge, it turns out, is fully stocked. And that’s not something Sebastian’s going to complain about.

  

||

  
It’s 7:45 in the night when the text comes through:

> _Emergency at work. Won’t be home till late._
> 
> _Will make it up to you._
> 
> _Love, Dad._

  
The disappointment creeps and itches through Sebastian’s skin, unwanted and unbidden. It pisses him off more than anything else could.

 

||

  
Sebastian is still awake when he hears the front door rattle, laying face up in the strange bed in the strange room that holds all his possessions yet feels uninviting. He looks at the clock on his bedside table.  The blue numbers tell him it’s a quarter after midnight. He hears his father’s footsteps approach his bedroom and when the door knob clicks almost silently, he quickly turns his back to the door and pretends to be asleep. He wonders if his dad will come inside and kiss his forehead like he used to when Sebastian was a little boy, but he doesn’t, and the door closes again, with his dad on the wrong side.  
  
And so goes Sebastian’s first day of winter vacation.  
 

||

  
Sebastian doesn’t wake until 10:00 am the next day. It’s the latest he’s slept in a long time and his body feels strangely leaden. He’s sure his father has left for work already but he still looks out the window to check for his car. There’s nothing on the driveway save for a faint oil stain lingering on the pavement.

He dawdles in the shower, reveling in the luxury of an unshared bathroom, adequate water pressure and endless hot water. He stands under the scalding spray for a long time, letting the heat beat away the painful knots in his muscles product of sleepless nights and too much practice.

Later, when he finally finds himself downstairs, dressed and in search for food he finds a new note on the fridge, next to the other one:  

> _Good morning. Hope you slept well. I’m sorry about yesterday. Had to file an emergency motion. I’ll be home early today. We can put up the tree together._

  
Sebastian crumples up the note and throws it in the trash. He’s not holding his breath.

 

  
  
He spends the day in his sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, wandering about in his socks, simply because he can. Because there are no dress codes and sanctions. His phone doesn’t ring once and it bothers him more than he wants to admit. It’s not until he’s faced with solitude that he realizes how alone he is. He has teammates, and classmates, but hardly any friends.

Everyone’s gone  _home_ , and he’s still  _here_. Because home… Well, home was their brownstone in Chicago, before his mom left (ran away) with that ballet dancer and he and his dad packed their bags and moved to Ohio and home was nowhere.

  

||

Sebastian is bored. So fucking bored, and there are only so many YouTube videos he can watch before he starts to feel his brain cells slowly shrivel up and die. And if he keeps eating frozen junk food his lacrosse coach will have his ass once practice starts again. Sebastian might not be against the idea of giving it up to an older man, but Coach Temple is definitely  _not_  one of them. It’s then he remembers the Christmas tree in the living room.

They haven’t had a tree since they moved to Ohio, and it’s been even longer since tree decorating was a family affair. The tree was his mom’s job and she always hired a decorator, he recalls with vague detachment. Let no one ever accuse the Smythe family of being anything less than cutting-edge. Holiday decorations were not the exception.

It’s silly but now that the thought has wormed inside his mind, he can’t let go of it. So he braves the dusty attic to dig through boxes and boxes of expensive ornaments from Christmases past.

He searches, searches and searches, but he can’t find what he’s looking for.

And isn’t that their life story.

||

  
The attic search having proved unfruitful, Sebastian then has the brilliant idea of driving to the nearest Wal-Mart two days before Christmas Eve. It’s snowing and blustery outside. He doesn’t know exactly what it is about bad weather that makes people forget how to drive but he’s decided that he’s going to let the next person who cuts him off just crash into him. He’s pretty confident his insurance policy is superior anyway.

It takes him 20 minutes to find a parking spot once he gets to the store. And even then he has to fight a hysterical woman who keeps waving her disgustingly long nails in his face. She’s not the only one with claws.

Sebastian’s only been here once before, right after the Dalton Lacrosse team won the championship last season and they got drunk to celebrate and snuck off campus. His memories of that night are pretty fuzzy, and they mostly consist of Tim Preston’s mouth on his dick, but he doesn’t recall this. There’s traffic,  _inside the store_. Like cart-to-cart traffic. And stuff everywhere—on the shelves, on the floor, in the middle of the fucking store where people are meant to walk. He’s never seen anything like it before. There’s even a fully-decorated, upside-down tree hanging from the ceiling. As ridiculous as it looks, Sebastian thinks his mom would probably think it was genius, if the right person suggested it. The Christmas section looks like a drag queen’s dressing room—there’s glitter and tinsel and feathers  _everywhere_ , but he manages to locate a tree base and some fairy lights after all.

Checking out deserves a whole other story.

||

  
Sebastian’s dad apparently bought the biggest fucking tree in the lot and it takes Sebastian 10 minutes to screw the thing into the base. He’s left with sticky hands and pine needles prickling everywhere. He wonders why he thought putting up the tree by himself would be a good idea.

Stringing the lights turns out to be the easy part of decorating. He’s got two boxes full of ornaments and no clue where to start. The boxes he settled on are cardboard—not plastic, like the rest of them—and he found them with his dad’s old sports memorabilia and not with the rest of the Holiday decorations. The ornaments are old and weathered. Tacky even. But they’re from the first Christmas he remembers. He was three. Before his grandparents had moved back to France. Before his dad started working more hours than the day had. Before the car accident and the damned hip injury that kicked his mom off the stage forever. Before Christmas became opulent parties and charity galas and societal obligations.

He got his first bike that year.

 

He’s putting the finishing touches on the tree when the front door opens. A quick look at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall tells him it’s only 10 minutes after 7:00.

“You started without me,” Sebastian’s dad says.

“You forgot the tree base,” Sebastian responds from behind the tree.

 “Did I? Come here and let me give you a hug.”

Sebastian comes out from behind the tree, hands ticked into the pockets of his sweatshirt. It’s his dad the one who makes the first move and meets him halfway, grabbing him in a large hug. It takes a second for Sebastian to respond. His dad’s hugs always make him feel slightly unsettled; he’s the only man who can make Sebastian feel small.

“You need a haircut,” his dad says after he’s let him go and tries to ruffle his hair, but Sebastian ducks away.

His dad is smiling, eyes narrowing in the same way Sebastian knows his own do when he smiles. “It’s so good to see you,” he says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around last night. I ordered a pizza to make up for the one we missed yesterday. It should be here soon.”

The doorbell rings, right on cue.

“And that’ll be it.” 

||

 

“Where did you get those ornaments?” Sebastian’s dad says, after swallowing the last bite of his pizza.

“The attic.”

It’s the first words they’ve exchanged since they sat down to eat dinner. It’s clear Sebastian’s dad was hoping to use the tree decorating as an ice breaker and Sebastian took that away from him and now their floundering. Two strangers on a first date—without the gross implications, thank you very much.

“I think it’s cold enough to go ice-skating. Maybe we could go tomorrow.”

Sebastian can’t hold back the little cynical puff of laughter. Ice skating? What is he, a child?

His dad sighs in defeat.

“If you’d wanted to spend Christmas in San Francisco, I would’ve bought you the tickets, even if I  _do_  want to spend time with you. I missed you when you didn’t come home this past Thanksgiving.”

Sebastian ignores the jab and instead answers the subtle question. “ _She_  and Pascal are spending Christmas in Montreal. Whatever, I don’t care.” He picks the peperoni off of the slices left in the box, even though he knows his dad hates it when he does that.

 “Have you called her yet?”

 “Uh, no.”

 As if. What would they even say to each other after a year and a half of not seeing each other and the obligatory phone calls every other month? Pleasantries become ever emptier the more you repeat them.

“Make sure you do.”

“Why? It’s not like she’s called me either. Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt all the fornicating they must be doing. I know how annoying it is when someone startles the orgasm away.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about your mother that way.”

“Why do you defend her, after what she did to you? What she did to  _us_?”

His dad looks weary all of a sudden. It’s terrifying, how Sebastian suddenly notices every wrinkle and every gray hair on his dad when just a minute ago they didn’t register.

“It’s not that simple,” his dad finally answers. “Relationships fall apart. It doesn’t invalidate all that came before.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“Spare me the “ _we were in love’_  speech. Lot of good that did you in the end.”

“She gave me you, didn’t she? I can never regret that.”

“Are you sure about that? You, a man of justice, with a delinquent for a son.”

“You’re not a delinquent. You’ve made mistakes. Big ones. But that doesn’t make you a bad person,” his dad argues. He sounds so earnest Sebastian wonders how many times he’s said it to himself. Who exactly he’s trying to convince.

He thinks about the tape hidden away upstairs in his sock drawer, like porn, or worse. Proof that his pride is worth more than his morals. Does he get brownie points for not destroying it? _Depends on what you’re planning to do with it, Sebastian_ , he tells himself. He can’t deny he never fantasized about calling Blaine, telling him exactly what his little sourpuss of a boyfriend thought of his assault. He would’ve  _loved_  to see Hummel try to explain himself out of that one. Which brings him back to the point.

“Not a bad person. Is that why you threatened me with that stupid camp? What was it the brochure said again? Turn your boys into men through a western adventure. Seriously?”

“You were out of control, you needed to be taught some discipline. And hey, it looks like my threat worked. I haven’t had to bail you out of any trouble all semester. That’s got to be some kind of record.”

“I didn’t do it for you. And I never once asked you to bail me out of anything. I can take care of myself.”

That makes his father laugh. It makes Sebastian want to punch his face in.

“Whatever,” he sighs. “I’m going upstairs.”

And so goes the second day of winter break.

 

 

||

  
He spends the third day watching movies in his room, avoiding the rest of the house until his hunger coaxes him out.

 

Sebastian wakes early on the morning of Christmas Eve. His dad is already drinking coffee and reading the paper on his iPad when Sebastian makes his way down to the kitchen for breakfast.

“There’s a package for you, from your grandparents,” his dad says, eyes never leaving the tablet, and vaguely gestures to the box resting in the middle of the table.

The return label has a French address so the package is from his mother’s parents. The box feels heavy and it fills him with childlike glee. His dad is looking at him with a peculiar smile. It makes Sebastian feel self-conscious. He rips trough the tape and digs through the packing peanuts and bubble wrap to pull out his presents.

They’ve sent him two bottles of Sebastian’s favorite wine from his grandfather’s personal label, an exquisite pair of leather gloves Sebastian can’t wait to try on, and a pair of cufflinks.  

 His dad picks up one of the wine bottles and studies the label.

 “Nice.”

 “Hey, give it back, that’s mine.”

 He sweeps through the box one last time and pulls out a card: 

> _Merry Christmas to our beloved grandson. We hope to see you soon._
> 
> _Love, pop & nana_

Inside the card are two open tickets to Paris.

“Did you have anything to do with this?”

Sebastian’s dad studies the tickets and shakes his head.

“Why is it so hard to believe they’d want to see you, spend time with you? Your family loves you, Sebastian. Even your mother. You know that, right?”

Sebastian avoids his eyes and shrugs.

“You never told me what you wanted for Christmas,” his dad says.

“I don’t need anything from you.” The retort comes harsh, and automatically and for the first time it’s accompanied by regret.

“We’re all trying here,” his dad sighs, “but you’ve got to meet us halfway. It’s Christmas Eve and you and I are having dinner together. No arguments.”

||

  
Sebastian’s dad doesn’t employ full-time housekeeping staff and hasn’t since they moved to Ohio and he mostly survives on takeout food and restaurants. Sebastian eats whatever happens to be served in the Dalton meal plan. But, it turns out they’re not totally hopeless in the kitchen and they end up with a decent meal of mashed potatoes and baked chicken. The vegetables are frozen, though, because Sebastian’s dad didn’t think to buy any fresh ones, and the gravy is the kind you make from a packet. They eat in the formal dining room, by the light of the Christmas tree. And though they eat mostly in silence, it’s not the charged, awkward silence of their first night. It’s comfortable, even.

“How’s school? You get all your college applications done already?”

They both soak up gravy with a forkful of mashed potatoes at the same time and it’s somehow amusing to Sebastian.

“Almost. I haven’t sent in Yale and Columbia yet. I wrote separate essays for those and I wanted to go over them one more time. They’re not due until mid-January, though.”

“Let me know if you need any help. And I know people over at Columbia, if you wanted to go on a tour.”

Sebastian thinks about what his dad said in the morning, about them meeting halfway. He’s never done that before, with anyone, and maybe therein lies the root of his problems. So he decides to give it a try.

“So, uh, any interesting cases lately? Anyone get stabbed with something weird or… hey! What about that guy they say dismembered his wife? You think he did it?”

His dad looks at him over his wine glass, stony yet amused.

“You know I can’t talk about my cases with you.”

“Aw, come on, dad, live a little. Who am I going to tell?” He says gesturing to the empty space around them.

“I don’t think so. I want to talk about you. What’s interesting in  _your_  life these days? I hear you won Sectionals?”

“How do you know about that?”

“The Dalton newsletter.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you actually read that, but yeah, we won. I got a solo.”

“Yeah? That’s good. What about boys? Got a boyfriend, yet?”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t  _want_  a boyfriend.”

“You’re young now, it’s not unusual you feel that way.”

Sebastian opens his mouth to argue but his dad continues.

“Maybe you’re right, I’m not condescending to you, maybe a lifetime commitment  _isn’t_  for you. And as long as you’re safe and you’re not hurting yourself or anybody else, then that’s perfectly fine. But, son, if you ever meet a guy who makes you feel differently, even just a little bit, don’t shy away from it. Let it happen. I meant what I said before. Even knowing how it ended, I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with your mother for anything. And like I said, she gave me you. And I could never regret that. I kinda miss you when you’re not around, bug. You keep my life interesting.”

Sebastian smiles; he can’t help it.

“I love you, too, dad.”

 

 

  
Later, they’re watching a sports game together and drinking hot chocolate. The powdered kind because neither of them has quite mastered the art of heating milk and melting chocolate over the stove. And that suits Sebastian just fine. Powdered hot chocolate is the only kind he ever remembers having at home. He’s not paying attention to the game, though. He’s looking at the old family portrait his father still keeps on the mantle. It’s the last one they ever took.

He wonders if his dad wants that again. If he wants to fall in love again and re-marry. And Sebastian envies him that because Sebastian is still terrified of calling his own mother because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t pick up. And he wonders what it would feel like to surrender yourself that way to another person, and what it feels like after, when they’re gone. Because in Sebastian’s experience there is always an after.

Let it happen, his dad said.

“There was a guy, once, that I think could’ve made me feel differently,” Sebastian says, borrowing his dad’s words. And he feels the moment his dad  _gets_  it. The television freezes. Sound stops. “But I fucked it up.” He doesn’t know why he’s sharing this, but now that the words are out, he can’t deny it feels nice to talk about boys and heartbreak with his father, like a normal person would.

“What happened?”

He thinks about all the times Blaine told him no, first gently and then emphatically, and yet still Sebastian pushed and pushed. Even just last month, with the whole trophy fiasco he tried to push again.

“I didn’t respect his boundaries. And then I nearly blinded him.”

His dad breathes in, once, sharply. “The Anderson boy. Gotta agree with you there, bug. You fucked that one up.”

“Hey! You’re my dad. Aren’t you supposed to say something like it’s his loss and I’m better off without him?” Sebastian teases. But his dad isn’t buying it.

“Don’t look to me to make excuses for your bad behavior. You screwed up, you own up to it.”

“I tried to apologize.”

“Tell me something, when you tried to apologize, why did you do it? Were you sorry you’d thrown that slushy in the first place? Or were you sorry it hit  _him_?”

“Touché.”

“You haven’t given him a reason to trust you. You said it yourself, you didn’t respect his boundaries. You can’t have any kind of relationship without respect.”

“I guess. It’s such a shame, though. He’s really hot.”

His dad laughs. “Yeah, the ones that get away always are. So, you got video of that winning performance at Sectionals?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

“Well go get it.”

 

  
Later, Sebastian’s sitting on the couch leaning against his dad’s figure, like he used to do when he was a kid and his dad’s scandalized  _oh god_  once he registers what they’re singing about sends Sebastian into a fit of giggles.

“Hey dad?” He waits until his father’s hum of acknowledgment to continue. “Can we go to Chicago soon? Just the two of us?”

His dad stares at him for a few seconds, and something passes between them. Something like understanding, and maybe grief for the life that once was.

 “Yeah, we can go to Chicago.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Emiliana Torrini’s “The Wolf Song”, just because I was listening to that song when I wrote this. The first line is from Jhumpa Lahiri’s “A Temporary Matter.”


End file.
